Scott and Stonebridge: Settling the Score
by QuestRunner
Summary: Sequel to Scott and Stonebridge: The Mannequin's Vengeance. After the shocking reveal of Section 20's mole, Scott and Stonebridge are tasked with bringing the traitor to justice by any means necessary. With water park races, prison breaks, and cameos from characters spanning across Project Dawn, Vengeance, Shadow Warfare and Legacy...it's finally time for our heroes to STRIKE BACK!
1. Chapter 1

Scott wrestled the toboggan up the stairs and paused only when he reached the top of the water slide. He craned his neck over the edge of the gushing water and smirked. Free fall. Hell yeah. The American turned his attention to the winded Brit who padded up the last steps with a groan.

"Stop being a wuss, Mikey, and check out this view! Twenty bucks says I make it to the bottom before you."

"You're supposed to be RESTING, not climbing up to the biggest waterslide on the island! And how did you beat me up here with that gunshot wound?" Stonebridge hedged, throwing his own toboggan down on the landing.

"How can I rest when our new base is paradise?" Scott said with a hyena laugh. Stonebridge huffed in exasperation.

"Well, seeing as I nearly DIED in this pool, I don't see why this place is so great—"

"No one cares, Mikey!" came the American's retort. The sexy Brit maneuvered his toboggan to the start line and shivered as he made contact with the cold water.

Section 20 had relocated to the Marksman's abandoned beach house a week ago and Stonebridge had been careful to avoid the water park at all costs...until now. His abduction by the Marksman was simply a bad memory, but the smell of chlorine still made him gag and NO ONE CARED, not even his sweet Kim—

"READY SET GO!" Scott yelled and kicked down the slide first, clearly in violation of the rules.

Stonebridge followed suit and quickly caught up to his partner in the adjoining lane. He splashed water in Scott's face to break his concentration—hey, if Bravo Two could fight dirty, so could he, dammit!—and took the lead.

"F me!" Scott cried as he tried in vain to make up lost ground. He flipped Stonebridge the bird behind his back as the dualing slides came to an end and the Brit reigned victorious.

"Well, as much fun as kicking your ass is, I have other plans today. Like drinking coffee. Lifting weights. Going shirtless. And binge-watching all of the Strike Back seasons back-to-back, except for the one starring Richard Armitage because it was never released in the States." Scott stalked forward from his slide of shame and shoved Stonebridge's forgotten toboggan back into his hands.

"NO! You don't get to leave until we have a rematch, you cheater!"

"Oh, I'M the cheater? That's rich coming from Mr. I'll Kick Off The Wall Early Damien Scott!"

Baxter watched the proceedings half a world away with veiled disgust. The hijacked Section 20 satellite had done an ample job providing surveillance of his former confederates. Sandy beaches, water park...did they seriously think he wouldn't find them?

The best decision he'd ever made was to turn his back on that two-bit organization that never allowed him to reach his full potential - or screen time. But all that would change. He decided the timetable needed to be accelerated after being subjected to the gag-inducing waterslide race between Scott and Stonebridge. He selected his primo cell phone contact and waited exactly three rings before the line picked up.

"It's time," Baxter said darkly, sending two darts from his free hand into glamour shot portraits of Bravos One and Two pinned to his revenge wall. Section 20 would rue the very day they made him a frail Cheeto character!

Meanwhile, the ruggedly so-hot-it-hurts Scott and Stonebridge had moved their competition to the lazy river, oblivious to Baxter's super spy satellite recording their gorgeous selves in pristine HD. Scott glided his way through the artificial current and threw an elbow into the Brit's forehead as he tried to pass him.

"One up, Mikey!" he jeered as kept his premature lead.

"You're such an asshole!" Stonebridge spat. He was about to exact revenge on the sassy American when an angel flew to his aid and did that for him. Said angel snuck Stonebridge a sexy wink before smashing Scott's face in with a pool noodle.

"No one hurts my British Biscuit and gets away with it!" Martinez added as she walked alongside the lazy river with her weapon of choice raised for another attack.

"Jules! Help me! Mikey's cheating again!" wailed Scott who received an additional pool noodle slap for his efforts.

"Got you covered," Richmond replied as she snuck up behind Stonebridge and doused him with a round from her AK-47 replica water gun. Bravo Sexy One succumbed to the water barrage and tried to scramble to the pool ladder for a swift escape. Sinclair, ready to join the fun, busted out of a side hut serving martinis and threw inner tubes at the soaking pair. The fun was contagious until—BAM!—Stonebridge felt someone smash a conveniently waterproof manila folder filled with conveniently waterproof laminated pages into his perfectly sculpted nose. Damn but that hurt!

"Our intel so far on that lying, frail Cheeto Baxter," Grant said as way of explanation. She settled herself into one of the nearby lounge chairs and summoned Kamali over to wave a giant leaf frond while Esther passed her some trashy gossip magazines. Content, the colonel pushed her aviation sunglasses down and sipped on a fresh martini from a coconut husk. Stonebridge gaped at the useless documents in his hands.

"But this is just a screenshot of the Google Search engine! This shows us diddly squat!"

"Well excuse me for trying to do research on an outdated MacBook Air with a slow as molasses internet connection!" Grant fumed. She took a sip to calm her nerves.

"Okay, well, then why don't we start going after dirtbags we can actually _track?"_ Kamali asked graciously. His voice lilted like honeyed silk and rainbow kisses. "Since Baxter's currently untouchable, let's focus our sights on some lesser terrorists. We should be able to handle them. There's Latif, Conrad Knox, al-Zuhari—"

A collective "NO!" from the group silenced the CIA operative, who wilted under their accusing glares. Even Esther looked on disapprovingly.

"Baxter BETRAYED us all!" Grant.

"Baxter SHOT Damien!" Julia.

"Baxter LEFT us at the airport!" Esther.

"Baxter CRIED all the time!" Scott.

"Baxter HATED Michael!" Kim.

"…What?! He hated me?!" Michael pouted hunkily.

"The point being," Grant snapped, "is that we're not gonna let him get away with this! Richmond, status."

Richmond, current user of the group's only laptop, shrugged despondently despite her earlier outburst. "It'd be easier to track Baxter's movements if I actually had some concrete information about the guy."

Scott hauled his Greek-chiseled abs out of the lazy river, dunking Stonebridge in the process. "What more could you possibly need to know about Baxter, besides the fact that he's a crackerjack?"

"Uh, maybe his FIRST NAME?" came the sarcastic response, freezing the rest of the party in their tracks. Richmond swung to face Grant, whose expression was largely hidden behind her oversized sunglasses. "Well? Colonel?"

"I never learned it," Grant said flippantly. She eyed the others with thinly veiled annoyance when they failed to maintain eye contact. Guilty, then. "No one? No one ever found out his first name?"

"US? What about YOU?" Scott retorted. "You're the one who hired the kid!" Grant fixed Bravo Sexy Abs Two with a fixed glare.

"What makes you think I hired him?"

"Well, if it wasn't you, then who in John Porter hired Baxter for Section 20?" Stonebridge demanded as he back-flipped out of the pool in style, landing next to his partner for a perfect photo-worthy poster shot. The British Biscuit tried to garner Grant's attention but she pointedly avoided his gaze and pretended to skim through the gossipy tabloid with renewed interest.

"Ma'am? Is there something you're not telling us?" Sinclair asked. He'd swapped the pool floatie in his hand for a RumChata, complete with a tiny umbrella. The colonel stretched and took another sip from the coconut.

"I have a pretty good idea who hired Baxter," Grant finally said, to the shock of the entire top billed cast. "But you boys won't like it."

"Just tell us what we need to do," Stonebridge said, ever the Section 20 golden boy scout. But dddaaammnnn if he wasn't the finest boy scout Martinez had ever seen. The colonel continued, unfazed.

"Bravos One and Two will infiltrate Black Bear Maximum Security Prison disguised as inmates. Your goal is to find one inmate in particular and convince them to give up the goods on Baxter." The dashing duo exchanged glances.

"Hold on! You don't mean...HER," Scott snapped. "Not Rachel Freakin Dalton! Need I remind you that she blamed me for hijacking your little tea party then shot me with a blank during the most epic joust in all of time and space?"

"She really did kick your ass, mate—"

"Shut up, Mikey!"

"What are their cover stories while inside?" Kamali inquired with a voice of silken petals and melted chocolate. Grant smirked.

"Easy. Scott for arson, weapons dealing, money laundering and looking too damn sexy for his own good. Stonebridge for tax evasion."

After the details of the dangerous plan had been hammered into place much like nails in a coffin, the others carried the beach party inside while Michael remained by the pool's edge. The soft currents of the lazy river swirled around his ankles as he sat morosely on the hard concrete, feet dipped in the water. He rolled his eyes when he heard Scott's obnoxious laughter coming from the party hut. He couldn't even escape the guy's dumb optimism even when he CLEARLY wanted to feel sorry for himself. Kim joined him after awhile, sitting to his right and punching him playfully in the shoulder.

"What's the matter, soldier boy?" she prompted, although he had a pretty good idea she knew.

"I...don't want to go to prison," he relented, wincing as another hyena laugh boomed across the park. Damn that American!

"Well, we need that intel if we're gonna stop Baxter," his fiancée stated matter-of-factly. He kicked at the water distractedly.

"I don't care about Baxter. Or the thousands of other douchebags who hate me. I just want to get married."

"Nu-uh, honeybun. Well, yes, I know you'd like to get married—BELIEVE ME, I can't wait—but you're more upset that Scott got a better fake rap sheet than you, am I right?"

"Is it too much to ask that I'm the cool one for once?" Sexy Stonebridge exploded, his anger again turning to the party hut as he threw a pool noodle toward the noise.

Scott, oblivious to his partner's inner anguish, downed his fifth shot glass in as many minutes and twirled Richmond in a festive spin (he still remembered some things from that Latin dance class, you know).

"HHHEEYYYY MMIIKKEEEYYYYY!" he crowed, sloshing his beverage over the Marksman's gold plated pool table as he staggered toward Stonebridge and Martinez. He almost tripped on the lone pool noodle that lay on the ground between them. "WE STILL GOTTA TRY OUT THE WAVE POOL!" Scott then stumbled over said noodle and missed Bravo One's look of pure annoyance. He sat down between the duo regardless and threw his arms across both their shoulders.

"Go AWAY Damien!" Stonebridge scoffed and tried to wrestle out of Scott's grip.

"Say PPLLLEEAASEEEEE," came the obnoxious reply as the soldier swayed drunkenly. Fortunately, a stylish Short Change Hero ringtone spared Stonebridge's hunky self from having to say the magic word. Scott fished out his waterproof super phone from the pocket of his swim trunks. It had a busted screen, two bullet holes and a nasty email virus but hey, at least he wasn't on the Brit's cheap ass prepaid plan. Bravo Six Pack Two glanced at the screen and felt his earlier elation ebb away.

"Sorry, Mikey, gotta take this," he said and gave Kim an slight shove. "Make sure your British Biscuit gets ass drunk instead of pouting the entire time like a wussy girl."

"HEY! I'M NOT POUTING, YOU—"

"Don't worry, I'm on it," Martinez said and pulled her man toward the party hut, taking a moment to stare at dem abs. Scott took a deep breath then answered the call with his usual swag.

"Damien Scott, professional badass."


	2. Chapter 2

Scott wandered to the far corner of the water park, distancing himself from his Section 20 family, and gripped the phone like a lifeline long after the call had ended. The self-proclaimed professional badass flopped into a giant whirlpool hot tub with a groan. For once in his unspeakably super hot life, he wanted to be alone to process the unfathomable news. Stonebridge, meanwhile, had raided Sinclair's RumChata stash and was more than ready to take on that wave pool.

"DDDAAAMMIIEENNNN!" he cried then took another swig out of the coconut. "GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!" He lost his footing on that damn pool noodle and tossed it aside. After minutes of searching, he finally found his partner kicking back in the most epic hot tub in the entire history of epic hot tubs. He jumped in and splashed Scott in the face. "Two words. Wave pool. And Kamali tweaked it so we can have waves 24/7!"

"I have a son, Mikey."

"And these waves are on FULL BLAST!"

"Sweet Jesus and pizza rolls, I have a son."

"Julia even found some surfboards in the back—"

"MIKEY I HAVE AN AS OF YET UNDISCLOSED TEENAGE SON NAMED FINN! AND THAT'S NOT LIKE HIS NICKNAME OR HIS LAST NAME, IT'S FREAKIN' FINN. I'M A DAD, WHAT THE HELL?"

Unfortunately, Michael chose that exact moment to fiddle with the hot tub's settings and turn the pumps on full blast, after which Sinclair announced happily over the loud speakers that he'd activated the wave pool.

"Sorry, mate, didn't quite catch that!" came the Brit's flippant response as he cajoled merrily to his hot fiancée and raced her to the pool, diving headfirst into a powerful wave.

Damien sat and sulked like a crybaby cribsy until Grant stalked over and put an end to his pity party.

"Wheels up in 48 hours, Scott. Then you'll be locked up in Black Bear prison with limited resources, corrupt guards and almost no backup."

"But-But-But-that's when my super cool teenage son Finn is going to fly out and meet me for the first time!" Grant glanced sternly at him over her sunglasses.

"Not anymore. You can have some non-existent father and rebellious-son bonding time later, AFTER this mission is completed. We clear, soldier?" Scott mumbled a response then sank below the sudsy water, drowning in girly floral scented oils and manly angst.

Meanwhile, Baxter was completing a happy dance and sent another dart towards Scott's hunky glamour shot. The audio transmitter from his stolen satellite captured everything he needed to hear. The former agent dialed up his go-to contact again and tried to master a creepy smile but it just ending up being cute and puppyish. He snarled in disgust. It would have to be a work in progress, then. He thought of Section 20's inevitable demise, which made him feel slightly better about himself. And now dumb Scott had given him a loaded gun, primed and ready to fire.

"Kwon. Change of plans. Let Grant's team have their fun for now. I've got a NEW target in mind..."

Scott and Stonebridge, sporting matching burgundy jump suits, entered the prison yard with swag. Stonebridge had spent the plane ride over buffing his already stellar bod with hundreds of bench presses and dumbbell curls—anything to intimidate their fellow inmates. Scott, meanwhile, had only completed one push-up before calling it quits, electing instead to sulk over his delayed father-son reunion with Finn ("Hey Mikey, do you think it's too late for me to rename the kid Damien Jr?"). Despite their stylish attempts to blend in with their incarcerated brethren, it was only a matter of time before their super hot photogenic faces and general vibe of badassery caught the attention of...well, everybody. A circle formed around the duo as the prisoners sized up the new arrivals.

"Hey, c'mon mates! We're all friends here, right?" the dashing Brit said, raising his muscular arms in defense. "We're just here to keep our heads down and finish out our sentence, like you good ol' boys. Cheers." Scott glanced over his shoulder and shared a nod of understanding with his partner. He knew what he had to do. Gain the inmates' trust. Don't cause waves. Act British. F that, the hunky American thought, and rolled his eyes obnoxiously.

"WHERE'S RACHEL FREAKIN DALTON? TELL ME OR I'LL STAB YOU IN THE EYE WITH A SPOON!"

"DAMIEN YOU WANKER!" came Stonebridge's manly retort. The human circle around them closed in even tighter.

"Sorry, Mikey, but I'm not gonna miss out on making father-son memories with Damien Jr just because we took our sweet time blending in and making friendship bracelets with these guys!"

"For the last time, his name is FINN!" man stud Stonebridge scowled, but his outburst went largely ignored by the American and the rest of the cast and crew.

"You're here to see Dalton? Who's askin'?" a muscular convict questioned as Stonebridge and Scott readied themselves in battle stances. Michael stepped up, cover story memorized to a 'T'.

"No one of importance. We're just vague, unremarkable acquaintances - long distance relatives. Second cousins of her mother's aunt's great-grandmother's husband's third wife's—"

Scott gave Michael a hard shove to the right so he could have the spotlight.

"That woman blackmailed me with diamonds then sided with a crazy mannequin man in order to distract us from the mole in our group! She has information on the fragile Cheeto who betrayed us, so get us an audience with her or get out of our way!" Michael gave a despairing "BOLLOCKS!" as the ringleader scrutinized Scott from behind his super swag sunglasses.

"You can cry like a little wussy all you like, but you can't see anyone or get anywhere without the help of the Locksmith." Stonebridge regained his dignity and used his tree trunk arms to throw Scott around like a sack of potatoes and gain his moment in the sun.

"Who in the name of Michael Bassett is the Locksmith?" A spry old man backflipped the entire length of the yard before completing a dizzying aerial twist and landing expertly in front of the sexy duo.

"Nice to see you, boys. And it's pronounced 'LOCKESMITH'."

"BOSS? You're alive?" Stonebridge sputtered in his absolutely gorgeous accent. He attempted a salute but Scott slapped his hands away, the prick. "This whole time we thought you'd blown up in Manny's stupid volcano!" Before their silver haired former leader could launch into a lengthy, epic, heart-racing account of escaping the flimsy paper mache volcanic eruption of massive proportions, sinfully sexy Scott pulled man muffin Stonebridge to the side.

"Uh, Mikey, in case you forgot, Little Miss Lockepick over here did diddly squat while I took a bullet to the chest! That asshole was prepared to let me die in that shitty life sized art project and I am NOT okay with that!" Stonebridge jabbed a finger into Scott's chest with a scowl.

"Look, he's our only shot at getting an audience with Dalton. If you have any better ideas, then I'm all ears. Oh wait, you've already pissed off all the prison gangs I specifically told you NOT to piss off on the flight over, so we'll probably be shanked the moment Locke disappears." The duo quickly glanced back in the direction of where Locke had been standing only moments before.

"Shit. Where'd the old man go?" Scott whispered. Stonebridge's oh-so-perfectly textbook posture wilted as he eyed his surroundings warily. Fortunately they didn't have to wait long, as the man of the hour barreled into them from a triple forward somersault.

"Don't LOCKE me out of your conversations!" he admonished while Scott and Stonebridge screamed girlishly from the unexpected jump scare, which both ruggedly handsome angel faces would later deny.

"You know what? I'm done! I'm busting outta this joint and I'm gonna meet up with Damien Jr with or without you, Mikey!" Scott raised his right arm to shove their boss out of the way, when something sharp dug into the side of his wrist. He looked down in shock at the handcuffs binding himself and Stonebridge together. The Brit raised his captive left arm experimentally.

"What the hell, boss?" Locke regarded both undercover agents with a scowl.

"I can open LOCKES just as easily as I can close them. Now, we've got some things to discuss, boys. If I get you Dalton, I want something in return." Scott tried to make some smartass comment, but the Brit interrupted him and stole his spot in the limelight.

"What in all of Strike Back could you possibly want?" Locke smirked.

"An old friend. Li Na."

Baxter casually flicked a used bullet casing between his fingers as Finn was unceremoniously dropped into a hard wooden chair with no butt contour. Which was a torture all its own, the former Section 20 tag along reflected, noticing the teen already squirming in discomfort. No restraints were needed; Baxter's confederates were instructed to mess up the kid's perfect hairstyle if he acted out of line...and hours of surveillance had verified maintenance of said hairstyle was no easy task.

Kwon pulled the cloth bag from the kid's head and stepped dutifully back into the shadows. Finn Scott looked blearily around the super secret dark bunker.

"Where am I? What do you want?"

"You're with friends, Finn."

"Last time I checked, friends don't kidnap each other. And why do you have a glamour shot of my sleazy, no good, drug-dealing, lazy ass, dead-beat, alcoholic, out-of-shape frail Cheeto father on the wall?"

"Because Damien Scott is planning a jail break," Baxter said silkily and uploaded a real-time drone video onto the portable projector. Scott was clearly shown in a prison yard getting the shit beat out of him by a gang of thugs while his handcuffed partner spoke animatedly with...Locke. Interesting that the old man survived, Baxter mused. He took in Finn's shocked expression and put a placating hand on the teen's shoulder.

"I'm one of the good guys. You can trust me. I work for a covert military agency. British intelligence. My prime target of late has been Damien Scott." The teen refused to look away from the screen. The footage now showed Scott getting a painful Indian burn on his forearm.

"But...why am I here? I've never even met my Dad!"

"Oh, not to worry. I plan to arrange your father-son meeting soon. Very soon."

"Soon as in...? Tomorrow?"

"Soon as in soon," Baxter assured him then schooled his features into an understanding mask. In reality, Baxter looked like a cute little kitten that needed a big cuddle and EVERYONE could see it. He snapped his fingers impatiently and Kwon melted out from his hiding place. "Kwon, see Finn to his cell - I, I mean, room. I'm sure he's exhausted."

"Actually, I'm wide awake—" A quick Vulcan nerve pinch from Kwon ensured the teen's unconsciousness. Baxter grinned as his bargaining chip was drug out of sight.

As it so happened, Locke wasn't called the Lockesmith for nothing. He had a copy of every key within the facility. Even random ass keys in case the locks were changed, which, the silver haired boss man assured the incredibly sexy knights, happened once every hour.

"And sometimes they LOCKE the exits and fire escapes with duct tape, just for fun." Locke's crazy depressing monologue continued as he opted to give Scott and Stonebridge the grand tour of the cafeteria/rec center/smoker area. "A week ago everyone stabbed each other with all the plastic, kiddie proof kitchen utensils so now you have to eat with your hands...and there's a shortage of napkins."

"Holy schnitzel, this place friggin sucks," Scott groused angstily, arm still throbbing from that uncalled for Indian burn. Locke nodded regally. "And hey, you didn't hear this from me, but T.P. over there has access to loads of napkins. On an entirely unrelated note, someone keeps stealing all of the toilet paper from the stalls. No word on where it went." Sir Sergeant Michael Flipping Stonebridge covered his mouth to keep from gagging.

"Hot tea and buttered crumpets, I'm gonna be sick."

As Locke ushered the pair further into the mess hall, Scott glimpsed the Black Bear prison special and tried to hold back a wave of nausea from the smell.

"Fritos and nutcrackers, what the hell is that?" Their former Section 20 leader was quick to resume his role as their unbearably sad tour guide.

"Well after the kitchen fell apart due to mold, asbestos, rat infestation, fleas, trash, and moon rocks, we've had to resort to melting down crayons for protein shakes and digging up ragweed for everything else." They rounded the next corner and stumbled into a wall of pure smoke.

"What the actual frick?" Scott screeched as his eyes watered from the incessant burn. Through the thick haze Locke pointed out various inmates lifting weights.

"Due to lack of funding, they had to combine the rec room and smoker facilities into one space. So you can't work out unless you smoke at the same time."

"That's seriously screwed up, boss. Look, why don't you guys say anything to the warden about this?" Stonebridge asked through lungfuls of sweet Jesus air as the trio burst out of the smoke cloud and into a spare hallway with creepy as hell graffiti coating the walls.

"You boys need to LOCKE your traps and listen up! Who do you think runs this prison?" The sinfully chocolate chip with sprinkles undercover agents shrugged in unison.

"Uh, I dunno…the warden?" Scott said lamely. Their boss man rolled his eyes before tapping a graffitied picture for emphasis.

"Look around, boys. It's Dalton. She's literally everywhere…always watching…" Stonebridge inspected the drawings with a barely contained un-knightly scream. Dalton's name over and over, either scratched or painted across the walls—the floors—the ceiling—

"She runs the prison now, through fear. Pain. Manipulation. Beer shortages. Forcing you to hold your pee for hours. But mostly through fear. And the occasional Justin Bieber dubstep remix." Scott flung himself to the floor in anguish, dragging his handcuffed partner with him.

"I CANT TAKE MUCH MORE! LET US SEE DALTON NOW, OLD MAN! OR—" The lights flickered until they shut off completely, leaving them in total darkness. The three men screamed, which the hunky hunks would later deny.

"Are you ready to make that deal, Scott?" Dalton's voice purred as she strutted toward them from the shadows. With a snap of her fingers the flickering lights returned for dramatic effect. "The Queen's real-deal-not-cubic-zirconium-totally-cool diamonds for some no-strings-attached-but-absolutely-useful intel on Section 20?"


	3. Chapter 3

"AWWW HELL NO!" Scott screeched in his grating American manly twang. Michael swooped in like a sexy hot bird of prey to salvage the situation.

"Our intel indicated you were an inmate here. What changed?"

"My employer, for one. And she doesn't particularly like either of you."

"What about me? What about me?!" Locke demanded. Dalton's sigh was crisp with annoyance.

"My employer didn't mention you. Probably because you weren't worth mentioning." Michael forced Locke to shut the hell up before he launched into another vengeance tirade.

"Who's your employer?" Scott asked, attempting to gain the diplomatic high ground, but Dalton was prepared. She dangled the necklace as if she were offering meat to a lion.

"I could leave you in chains, hidden away in this prison. Or we could negotiate."

"NO WAY IN JOHN PORTER WOULD I NEGOTIATE WITH YOU!" The femme fatale spun the diamond necklace around in her hands with lazy disinterest.

"Pity. I thought Finn was worth more to you. Oh well. I'll personally let your son know that his father decided to be absent from his life. Again."

"IT'S DAMIEN JR! And I was only absent for like...sixteen years! Is that really so bad?" Damien spat. He turned to his best friend for confirmation. "I mean, I've done WORSE things than abandon my baby son after a sleazy one night stand at the Senor Taco restaurant." Stonebridge tried to hide his disapproval by speaking rapidly in his razzle dazzle British accent, but Scott could see past the lies. "You think I'm a dirtbag, don't you Mike? Admit it!" Stonebridge huffed with a face that looked like it was carved by angels.

"Senor Taco? REALLY, Damien? Besides, I could care less about Finn. He's not my kid." The Brit ignored Scott's look of pure betrayal and rounded on Dalton. "We're here about Baxter. You hired him, didn't you? Talk, you washed out has been!" Stonebridge regretted his mean macho side and knew it went against everything instilled into a Knight of the Most Excellent Order, but hell, this place was really freaking him out. And it smelled. Like, really bad. The sooner they got out of this shitty place, the better. Dalton crossed her arms with a flip of her long ponytail.

"Fine. I'll tell you all about that fragile Cheeto Baxter IF I get something in return." The obnoxious American threw his hands up in exasperation, raising Stonebridge's left wrist against his will.

"We already promised boss man here some Li Na chick! And I want to see Dddaaammiiieennnn Jjjjrrrr!" Dalton then whispered something to Stonebridge, for his ears alone, and the knight shot her a dark glare before letting his shoulders drop in defeat.

"We accept your offer. You have my word."

"Then let's talk shop. Shall we?" Scott nudged a disheartened Stonebridge as they followed the vixen down the gross hallway.

"Yo Mikey, what was that all about?" Stonebridge smiled a little sadly.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it, Damien."

For information pertaining to Baxter, Michael always knew there'd be a hefty price to pay. It just never occurred to him how much he'd have to sacrifice this time. But dammit, for Queen, country, his smokin' hot fiancée and yeah, even Damien Jr, he'd agree to Dalton's ridiculous terms.

But he sure as hell wasn't happy about it. And, even if he couldn't reveal the ugly terms of the agreement with his partner, he'd make sure Scott knew EXACTLY how pissed he was.

Thirty minutes later had Michael barreling away from the prison in a decked out Humvee and more ammo than a small army. Locke was riding shotgun (given that he'd yelled 'Shotgun!' first and smacked Scott's Indian burn for good measure) while the American sulked in the backseat. Dalton had graciously provided the keys to their handcuffs while pulling the Brit aside in secret to iron out the finer details of their deal. For the first time since meeting Scott in Kuala Lumpur, he finally understood what the ex-Delta Force operative had gone through when he'd been falsely accused of drug possession. The fallout had destroyed Scott's reputation and personal life, leaving an ugly military paper trail littered with counterfeit accusations in its wake. Stonebridge's resolve wavered and he almost spilled the beans right then and there about his shady arrangement with Dalton.

"Hey, Scott, mate, you should know-"

"I GOTTA PISS LIKE A RACEHORSE, PULL OVER! MMIIIKKKEEEYYYYYY!"

Stonebridge immediately shut up and stared annoyingly at the dirt path ahead. Fine, then. He'd handle everything HIMSELF as usual, because Scott was such a lame ass cabbage patch baby brat.

"Why didn't you go before we left?" Locke asked with a hint of steel in his voice. Scott huffed as if it were obvious.

"Because I didn't have to go then! Pllleeeaaassseee Mikey..." Stonebridge slammed the brakes so hard Scott nearly dove headfirst through the windshield.

"You've got one minute."

"Mike, why're you being such an asshole?"

"Forty five seconds."

"What'd I do to you?"

"Thirty seconds."

"FINE THEN!" Scott stomped off into thick foliage to do his business while Stonebridge drummed his fingers erratically on the steering wheel. After this mission, he'd never see his sweet Kim again. Rachel Dalton would bury him in a hole so deep he'd never see the light of day...

Scott flopped back in the vehicle after failing to secure his spot in the front seat for the second time and sat in blessed silence for about three seconds until he just HAD to open his mouth.

"Michael, you didn't really mean what you said back there? About Damien Jr?"

Stonebridge knew he shouldn't be such a hardass and take his frustrations out on the one man who'd watched his back through armored truck crashes, train hijackings, and shit water (the Brit had to freakin' dive UNDER that shit water to commandeer a boat in Colombia and no way in hell was he ever letting Scott forget it!) but the thought of losing everything he held dear—his rad position as the man hunk of Section 20, his beautiful kickass fiancée, and all those amazing zoom-in camera angles featuring his totally sexy but still-a-regular-guy face—almost destroyed him. Add an oblivious, irritating, attention hog American to the mix and Stonebridge's dark mood reached even greater heights. He gunned the Humvee, sending Scott tumbling around like a rag doll.

"Every word," Stonebridge spat in reply. He intended for the statement to hurt but hot damn if his dreamy accent didn't soften the sting by at least fifty percent. Scott leaned forward between the two seats but Stonebridge shoved his head back without taking his eyes off the bumpy, forlorn road.

"What the actual frick, Mikey? Damien Jr—"

"FOR THE LAST TIME HIS NAME IS FINN!" Stonebridge snapped. Locke, evidently enjoying the sudden display of drama and character development, obtained movie theater popcorn from out of nowhere and started munching in earnest. It was Scott's turn to scowl.

"Well...FINE THEN!"

"FINE." A brief pause.

"I'm not talking to you, Mikey!"

"Good."

"Good!"

Scott shielded his eyes from the conveniently setting sun, which made his gorgeous green eyes really pop. Stonebridge neared their destination in silence, marred only by Locke's continued popcorn feast. Surprisingly, it was Grant who broke the tension over their radio comms.

"Mission well done, soldiers. I assume you found intel on that lying weasel Baxter. Get your asses to the safe house. Martinez and Richmond will rendezvous with you there."

"Copy that," Stonebridge said flatly. When Scott didn't acknowledge their commanding officer, he turned in the driver's seat to cast him a withering glare. "Got anything to add, Damien?" His asshole partner flipped him the bird in response. "Damien's not in his usual chatty Kathy mood, but I'm sure you'll be delighted to speak with an old acquaintance who DIDN'T die in a paper mache volcano. Philip Locke." Grant sighed from the other line.

"Well, seeing as I'm not about to dismiss one of the most talented badasses Britain has to offer, I'll allow him to stay on the team. Locke, I'm ordering you to work in tandem with Kamali and Esther. They'll be parachuting into hostile territory within the hour." Locke threw the popcorn bag over his shoulder and it smacked Scott right in the face.

"Are we LOCKEING the—"

"No more LOCKE puns. We're seriously running out of ways to use those in this story," the colonel interrupted with another huff. "I've sent the safe house coordinates to your phone, Michael. Now move it!"

"On it." Stonebridge tossed his super secret spy phone to Damien Sr, smirking when it hit him on the nose. "Check Google maps. We should be close." To his surprise, the pissed off Father of the Year pitched the phone back at him, catching the knight on the back of the head.

"YOU check Google maps! I'm busy writing a long lost letter to my son who you don't care about and never WILL!"

"I'm DRIVING, you wanker!"

"Well that just f-ing sucks. Get over it!"

"I'll LOCKE in the coordinates!" Locke offered as he reached for the mobile. The younger Brit slapped the boss man's hands away before returning them ten and two on the wheel.

"NO! Let Damien do it. He's a big boy, he can handle it." Scott clenched his perfectly stubbled jaw.

"Well Mikey should've thought about that BEFORE he turned into a spoiled little wussy girl!"

Their bickering continued for hours, neither agent consulting the coordinates, until they eventually found the safe house after Locke slapped them both in the face, tossed Michael into the passenger seat, and performed a flawless handbrake turn into a manicured driveway.

"Good luck, boys. You're gonna need it," Locke said calmly, as if driving like a maniac came second nature. Stonebridge tried not to hyperventilate from the near death experience while Scott nursed a multitude of bruises from being thrown around the back like a Raggedy Ann.

"Boss? You're not coming inside?" Stonebridge asked incredulously. Scott groaned in irritation at Michael's inherent trust in the shady silver haired man who had left them both for dead not too long ago. The scar from Scott's super manly bullet wound proved Locke was dangerous, a loose cannon. And Michael was definitely keeping something bottled up inside; the incredibly sexy American may be shallow, but he wasn't stupid. If he couldn't trust his British comrade, then who could he trust? He had to watch his back. Baxter could have been in contact with someone else on the team. For all he knew, Kim, Sinclair...even Kamali was a spy! Well, okay, obviously not Kamali. That man's voice could heal wounded puppies and create pots of gold at the end of rainbows. Locke's charming accent interrupted his gloomy thoughts.

"Sorry, Michael. But Kamali and Esther are on a totally separate mission that will eventually become relevant to the current plot and right now they need my help. So I'm taking the Humvee and all the guns and ammo." Scott sat up in horror.

"Wait, ALL the guns? Hold up, I need at least ONE weapon and some backup ammo before you—"

"Later, boys!" Locke cajoled happily. He karate kicked the pair out of their respective seats and into freshly cut grass before completing another handbrake turn with absolutely no momentum and disappearing out of sight.

"F me!" Scott cried as their sweet ass ride and mountain of illegal weapons vanished into the night. He stomped up the steps to the front door and pushed it open with swag. Too much swag. He felt Stonebridge grab the back of his Kevlar vest and yank him out of the entryway just as the hidden charge detonated and shredded the door into painful flying splinters. "F me!" he scowled again, over the persistent ringing in his ears. The floodlights suddenly came to life and burned his retinas with its punishing glare. "F me!" Then a shit load of pepper spray doused both crazy hot Section 20 operatives and they stumbled pathetically into the plush grass. "F me!" Then the sprinklers came on. "F—"

"IF YOU SAY THAT STUPID CATCHPHRASE ONE MORE TIME, MATE, I WILL END YOU!" Stonebridge gasped through the pain. He was so macho badass, that even his "I'm in so much pain right now I could die" face was hella hot.

Scott slipped on the wet landscaping, but was spared an embarrassing ass over tits flip of epic proportions when a strong hand caught his arm and kept him steady.

"I owe you one, Mikey." Shit. The mind numbing pain almost made him forget about his man fight with Stonebridge! Scott tried to shake the offending arm away, hoping that his partner would take the hint and leave him alone. He raised his hand to wipe the burning muck of pepper spray from his eyes, but it only made his vision worse. He hollered for his badass fiancée, even though he couldn't see shit. Where were Julia and Kim?

"JULES! Mikey's being a royal pain in the ass again! Pun intended, being a Most Excellent Knight of I Don't Give A Crap. I mean, what the frick, ladies? It's us! Why'd you go into freak mode?" Before his rant could warrant a response, the stoic man at Scott's side chopped him hard across the back of his neck and sent him crashing, unconscious, to the ground.

Stonebridge, meanwhile, tried to maneuver blindly to his partner's side, through the pepper spray man tears, strobe lights (yes, the floodlights came with that particular setting) and 50 mph sprinklers of death, but his heroic efforts were in vain. A swift kick to the head was all it took for Bravo Six Pack One to kneel uselessly in a puddle while his hands were fastened behind his back. Stonebridge tried to dope the stranger with his most posh British accent, but it clearly backfired and he grunted as the cuffs were tightened. Through his blurry vision, he saw someone amble down the front steps of the safe house and survey his handiwork with a sigh.

"Nice work, Kwon. Your ninja skills are proving most satisfactory." The figure walked closer to his struggling target.

"Baxter!" was all man stud Stonebridge could muster before the ninja in question really went to town on that duct tape and wrapped it painfully tight across his mouth and head. Baxter only smirked and hitched a thumb over his shoulder at Scott's still form. "We almost have the whole team back together, except we DON'T. I've made my OWN division, my OWN Section! Section B, as in Baxter. Liam Baxter." Stonebridge was then hauled inside the nondescript house with no word on Scott's fate.


	4. Chapter 4

Scott, meanwhile, awoke an hour later. Okay, so being strapped to an uncomfortable metal chair and accused of conspiracy to commit treason wasn't exactly on the Top Ten list of father-son reunions. But Scott was used to winning despite having the odds stacked against him.

"Damien Jr! It's me! Your badass super spy military Dad. Sorry for all the secrecy, buddy. I would say I didn't contact you because of national security reasons, but since we're being honest, that's not really true. It was either raise you or go on an extended undercover op in Bali as a photographer for nude models. You can see my dilemma." Scott was rather proud of his little speech but his brat of a son spat on the floor and paced in agitation. The teenager, unlike Poppa Scott, had been given free reign of the small, empty room, though the only door was locked.

"My name is Finn!"

"Yeah, well, I always meant for my son to be named Damien Jr. I just wasn't able to add my two cents to the birth certificate because, you know, Bali." Finn glared accusingly.

"Mom told me all about you." Damien perked up and grinned.

"Yeah? She told you how awesome I am, right? Because I'm a total badass, just saying."

"Actually, she told me you were a drug-dealing alcoholic turned serial thief who was trying to make it big as a conman before you got sent to prison for tax evasion. Twice."

"Hey!" Scott bristled. "Only two...no, three of those accusations have any truth to them! And FYI that opium was planted in my locker!"

"Then she told me you got mega rich by drugging winning race horses at the Kentucky Derby then betting on the underdogs."

"WHOA, Jr! That one is a blatant lie!" Scott tried to struggle against his bonds, to no avail.

"So you'll forgive me if I don't jump at the chance to believe anything you say." Scott's anger grew.

"So you'll believe Baxter? The guy who orchestrated your kidnapping?" Finn stopped his pacing, confusion etched in his features.

"Uh...yes? No? Well, more than you, at least!"

"Fine, kid! If he's so great, then tell me one thing. What the hell did he do with my partner?!" Scott demanded. The teenager hesitated.

"Your partner? Uh, okay, I thought you liked women, but that's cool—"

"My MILITARY COMRADE, you little twerp!" Scott interrupted gruffly. He'd surmised as much that Grant, Martinez, and the love of his life had escaped Baxter's grasp. No one had the decency to tell him shit about Michael.

The door opened soundlessly and traitor Baxter slipped inside. He was trying (and failing) to hide his smirk.

"Cooperate with me, and I'll let you and your son go. Free to live a life of peace."

"And Mikey?"

"No longer your concern. Neither is Section 20." Baxter whistled for Kwon, who zipped into the room like a shadow and manhandled Finn through the door. Scott cried in protest, but was only able to sit helplessly as his son disappeared from view. Baxter gave his best bad guy smile (which looked cute and puppy-like—still had to work on that). "Work with me, Scott. I can protect you and Finn. Even Julia Richmond. All you need to do is join Section B."

Stonebridge struggled against the merciless zip ties that confined him to a chilly metal chair with no butt contour. He tried to scream for help through the duct tape—hell, he could really use the Lockesmith right about now!—when the door to his barren cell opened, granting Section 20's short lived costar entry. Baxter! The Brit willed himself not to cry tears of super hunk man angst as that fragile Cheeto ordered his personal ninja, Kwon, to rip off the duct tape covering his mouth. As Kwon then proceeded to transform into full badass mode and punch him mercilessly in the face, Stonebridge silently prayed to the Section 20 writers to spare his mega hot features from any permanent damage.

The producers felt a little guilty for allowing Kwon to beat the shitake mushrooms outta their Bravo One superstar, so they called a timeout and gave him some freshly brewed Oprah's chai tea in return. Between the throbbing black eye and split lip, Stonebridge suddenly glanced down at his super duper oh so gorgeous beach bod and fought against the plastic ties even more.

"Where the hell did my shirt go?" The producers didn't bother answering and only shouted "Action!" in a rush to continue the scene. Baxter paced in front of his brooding captive with a puppy like sneer.

"Michael. The golden boy of Section 20." The Brit narrowed his beautiful eyes. Two could play this game.

"And you're Baxter. The uh...uh..."

"You don't even know what I did at Section 20, do you?!" Baxter scowled.

"I was too busy doing my own stunts to bother noticing," Stonebridge huffed. "I mean, did you freakin' SEE all the cool shit me and Scott got away with?"

"I could've done all that, too!" Baxter whined, but his cute face made it impossible to take him seriously. Stonebridge rolled his eyes.

"Uh how's about NO." It only took a snap of Baxter's fingers for ninja Kwon to send a right hook into dem abs of steel. "Cheese toasties, crisps, and trousers!" the Brit cursed from the flare of pain. He lifted his head regally despite the obvious bloody nose. "When me and Scott get outta here—" Traitor Baxter laughed.

"Oh, do you really think Scott cares about his military brother-in-arms when his super secret spy family is on the line? That stupid American gave you up to save Julia Richmond and that brat of a son, Damien Jr."

"Does anyone even care that the poor kid's name is Finn?"

"So you're alone. Abandoned. Left for dead by your own Section 20." It was Stonebridge's turn to smirk.

"Dalton told me all about you, you know. How you were fifteen, sixteen, when they took you from your home, your family, never to see them again." This earned the operative another smack across the face.

"Shut up!" Baxter wailed, but his adorable puppy eyes prevented him from perfecting the glare he was aiming for. Stonebridge continued, undeterred. "They molded you, shaped you. Sent you away. All for the mission. For the cause. Then the script says something about a million man army and how Scott and I f'd up your master plan, but I'll just skip all that and get to the good part." The sexy as hell knight leaned forward as far as the restraints would allow and donned the glare that Baxter had tried so hard to imitate. "Admit it, you rat faced weasel! You're a North Korean sleeper agent! And I'm willing to bet your handler is Li Na. How long have you been masquerading around as a British citizen, you twat?"

Scott knew he should've taken Baxter's deal. He tried to be heroic for his son and Julia and where had that got him? Stuck in the same damn room in the same damn chair. If he had allowed himself to turn back to his douche bag roots, he and his super cool spy family could be sipping Capri Suns poolside right now. Instead, he had to pull a perfect Mikey and tell Baxter to shut the hell up and go to hell. Which, in retrospect, was a really idiotic response. Saying 'hell' twice in the same sentence? How old was he, five? He scooted to one of the walls and slammed the chair repeatedly until one of the legs broke and he was able to free himself. His aching and stiff joints made him recalculate his age to ninety, and he groaned in pain as he stood up. He didn't want to draw attention to himself until he had a plan. That meant no yelling for Damien Jr, no tapping out Morse code to Michael (he'd been forced to learn it after his 'appalling' lack of knowledge in Buckingham Palace) and no drawing inappropriate images on the walls. Damn! What could he do?

Stonebridge reeled from another sharp cuff across the face before Baxter snapped his fingers and the barrage stopped. Kwon drifted into a shadowy corner, giving the Section B leader full view of the slumped operative sitting in the contourless chair. A torture all its own.

"How does it feel to be beaten by your superior?" he sneered, relishing his brief victory over the British sergeant. Stonebridge rolled his eyes.

"Seeing as you cheated and hired a f'ing ninja, I don't think that counts!"

"It does too count!" Baxter snapped, clearly miffed at Stonebridge's suave rebuttal.

"I want a rematch-you and me. In which case you'd probably just surrender anyway and I'd win by default," Stonebridge continued. "And can someone at least throw me a shirt?" His request went unanswered.

"As much as I'd love to see you grovel at my feet, begging for mercy from Section B—"

"Not gonna happen."

"—I need you as a bargaining chip. Relatively unharmed," Baxter said. He swiveled in his stylish combat boots and made for the door, flicking off the overhead lights in his stead. Kwon followed the puppy-faced leader from the room. Bargaining chip? The stud muffin thought fast. Chances were that Scott and Damien Jr—dammit, he meant Finn—were still trapped in this shithole house where the only furniture they had were chairs built by Satan. He could still save Scott's sorry ass. The operative braced himself against the restraints. He just needed to make one more snarky comment and hit Baxter where it hurt.

"Now I remember what you did at Section 20, besides being a less cool version of Sinclair. You were... EXPENDABLE." At Baxter's command, Kwon kicked the Brit so hard in the temple that the chair toppled sideways and sent him crashing to the floor. Baxter tried to laugh evilly, but it only sounded like how a happy child would react if they got a dog on Christmas morning, so he stopped.

"The golden boy, reduced to this. You'll learn your place soon enough." With that, Stonebridge's assailants left the room, leaving him in semi darkness. The sexy six pack thanked his grandma's super secret crumpet recipe that he'd managed to land next to the vent he'd noticed before Kwon's Thousand Fists of Fury demo reel. He craned his neck toward the vent, ignoring his aching body screaming in protest, and whispered, "Scott, mate, can you hear me? Scott!"  
Scott had rammed the door so many times that it was a wonder his shoulder was still intact. He'd also tried to pretend he was a ghost and fly through the wall; not one of his better moments, though it could be argued that he usually didn't go more than five minutes without a firefight or a hot woman by his side, so he was clearly suffering from boredom. And the forced kidnapping of his son didn't help matters either. He was almost to the point of throwing shoes when he heard a familiar voice emanate from the grate to the left side of the room.

"Scott? You there? Scott?" Scott dove and grunted as all 180 pounds of pure muscle collided with the floor. He crawled over to the ancient grate.

"Mike! You're alive! They do any funny experiments on you?"

"You're one to talk. Baxter acted like he had you in his back pocket." Scott hyena laughed.

"If I was a smarter man, I'd be drinking beers with the traitor right now."

"And Finn?" Michael's voice grew softer. "For a second, I thought I heard him, but I couldn't make it out. Is he with you?" Scott scoffed.

"Yeah right. After I told Baby B to shove it, he took Damien Jr away and—" A tinny cry from somewhere on his right made Scott take pause. He listened again and, sure enough, his son's voice was barely audible through the grate from the other side of the room. "Hold up, Mikey, I can hear him. Wait one sec." The sexy American drug himself in the opposite direction on his knees, which were quickly starting to ache against the cold, hard floor. "Hey! Favorite son! You there?" Finn sounded fed up. Good, the kid needed a backbone. He had to learn that the world was a cruel and unforgiving place. Except Bali. And Vegas.

"Oh HI least favorite absent Dad. They locked me in a room too, isn't that great?"

"Yeah, peachy. Listen, I've found a way to speak with Michael, so hold tight, we're gonna figure out a plan—" Michael's annoying British twang hissed from across the room.

"I heard my name you twat, what lies are you spouting over there? And speak up, I can't hear you that well, mate." Finn was equally confused.

"I heard someone talking, but it was too muffled. What's going on?"

Great. Stonebridge and his son were too far apart to hear each other through their respective vents. Scott had a feeling he was gearing up for impending knee surgeries and a telephone game from hell.

"All right, Junior, It's time for you to become worthy of sharing the same screen time as me and my abs. I'm gonna see if Mikey and I can find a way to cruise outta this joint while you beat the shit outta one of the walls and try to dig a hole to freedom. If things go my way, we'll be escaping this stupid little hut via hot extraction." Scott heard his bratty son scoff from behind the wall.

"Your plan sucks! Forget it, I'll just stay here!"

"Our secret crib is in a water park," the sexiest Father of the Year smirked, but Finn held fast.

"I'd rather stay as far away from you as possible, in a house filled with chairs with zero butt contours!"

"We have dualing slides."

"But—"

"Lazy river."

"I don't—"

"24/7 wave pool."

"Hey—" Time to sweeten the deal.

"And you can totally pee in the water and no one has to know. Think about it."


End file.
